


Save a Horse, Ride a... Horse?

by Stackthedeck



Series: Adventures in Time [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alcohol, American Wild West, Angst, Cowboy AU, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Guns, Horses, M/M, a big fuck you to historically accuracy, but no one gets hurt, i'm an american so i can make fun of america, mentions of the holy water fight, not really an au because they were around at the time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-13 01:21:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20165791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stackthedeck/pseuds/Stackthedeck
Summary: After Crowley's and Aziraphale's fight over the holy water, Crowley decided he needed space. And what has more space than the American frontier? This is fine by Aziraphale, he needs space too. Until Gabriel informs him that the demon Crowley has been causing trouble and he's the only one who's a match for the wily demon. Aziraphale and Crowley do everything they think cowboys ought to do, except heard cows.This is part three of my Adventures in Time series but you don't need to read the others to understand this fic.





	Save a Horse, Ride a... Horse?

**Author's Note:**

> This is the most unlikely scenario that Crowley and Aziraphale could get themselves into. A quarter of all cowboys were black. The rest of them would Mexican because the “wild west” was owned by Mexico before it was taken by America. Others would be mixed race, shamed by eastern states and moved to the west or the result of a white dude raping a native woman. Some cowboys were native Americans trying to assimilate to white culture and make enough money to buy land. Some were Chinese but most Chinese immigrants worked on the railroad and herding cows wasn’t their thing. A very small minority of cowboys were white. I can say with almost 100% confidence that there were no Englishmen involved in the wild west. That being said, I needed a time period between the time Aziraphale and Crowley broke up and Oscar Wilde. European history is boring, American history is also boring but the wild west can be made twisted to be exciting. That’s why Hollywood made movies about it. TL;DR Hollywood lied to you about cowboys and I will be taking many liberties with the passage of time.
> 
> Thank you so much to @LightningInABottle for beta reading for me, she's a lifesaver! You can follower her on Tumblr @coffeepoweredlesbian and you can follow my Tumblr @stackthedeck

Aziraphale makes a point to never question the Almighty but They certainly make it hard. He’s pretty sure that by the sixth day, God just phoned it in. Sure, humans are well and good, but that was caused by one final burst of energy after God pulled the world’s first all-nighter. Light and humans are quite spectacular, it’s all the stuff in the middle that proves a rushed job. 

Specifically, horses. Oh, how Aziraphale loathes horses. They cause every part of one’s body to ache after a day of riding, they’re sensitive to every little thing, and they smell. Aziraphale, if he let himself think of the foul beast for too long, would start to wonder if the Ineffable Plan is all that great of a plan. But he doesn’t wonder that. Thoughts like that could cause an angel to fall in the old days. Although, in this day and age, all he’d get was a strong glare from Gabriel.

Aziraphale is riding a horse. In fact, he has been for the last month. The horse is beautiful, a white mare with a saddle and bridle made with Italian leather and holy silver. It still doesn’t change the fact that Aziraphale’s ass is sore. America is so big and they want to make it bigger. One needs to ride for a month just to get from one state to the other. Aziraphale would only need to ride for a week to go from one side of England to the next, not that he’d ever do that.

“The demon Crowley is causing trouble,” Aziraphale says in imitation of Gabriel. “He’s stirring up trouble in America and you’re the only one who knows his tricks.” Aziraphale has had this conversation with himself at least once a day. “That blasted demon just  _ had _ to go across an ocean to avoid me. And he just  _ had _ to cause trouble so I  _ had _ to follow him.”

Crowley and Aziraphale aren’t exactly on speaking terms. Aziraphale hadn’t heard anything from or about the demon until Gabriel came to him with an assignment. The whole holy water incident created quite a rift between them.

Before Aziraphale has a chance to fume on the events that got him into the American Wild West, he spots something on the horizon. As he moves closer, he can see the beginning of a town. He prays that there’s an inn. If Aziraphale has to sleep on the ground one more night, he’s going to lose it.

The town looks very similar to how the newspapers report towns to look in the west. There’s a saloon, sheriff’s office, a brothel, and an inn, along with other buildings. There’s no massive clock tower to strick high noon but the town is still growing.

Aziraphale dismounts his horse and ties her up in front of the saloon. As he enters the saloon, he gets a few strange looks from the patrons. He hasn’t changed how he dresses since coming from England. He’s added a hat to keep the sun off but, he’ll die before wearing chaps or denim. Ignoring the rude looks, Aziraphale takes a seat at the bar.

“What can I do for ya?” The bartender has a thick southern accent. He has the kind of smile that anyone who wants to make a dime in the service industry has to have. He’s cleaning a glass with a rag.

“I’ll just have a glass of water, please. It’s been an awfully long day of traveling.” Aziraphale has a different kind of southern accent.

The bartender raises an eyebrow at the strange request and the strange patron but gets him the water. The saloon is calm. Patrons make ideal chatter and there’s a man lazily plucking at a piano. From the research Aziraphale had done on America, he thought there’d be more bar brawls and mysterious strangers bursting inside.

The saloon doors swing open with a loud bang. A mysterious stranger clothed in all black stands in the doorway. He wears a large hat and bandanna, keeping his eyes and face out of view. His boots creak against the wooden floor as he saunters towards the bar. Everyone inside the saloon is shocked into silence. This is the kind of thing that happens in other towns and is written about by less than respected newspapers.

“Whiskey,” the stranger rasps. The bartender reaches for a glass. “No,” The stranger hisses. “The whole bottle.” With shaky hands, the bartender places a bottle in front of him. The stranger flicks the lid off and takes a swig.

“Howdy,” Aziraphale says. He doesn’t want things to be awkward but he is also very bad at reading the room.

The stranger flinches but doesn’t turn towards Aziraphale. “Howdy,” he says, voice deeper and American accent thicker.

Aziraphale takes in the slight frame, all black, and covered face to make an educated guess. “Crowley, is that you under there?” Aziraphale reaches for the hat and Crowley leans away.

“Yes, it’s me.” He tilts the hat further down. “I don’t have my glasses on so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t blow my cover.”

Aziraphale leans away from Crowley. “What are you doing here anyway? Are you an outlaw now? Robbing trains and banks?”

Crowley shrugs. “Just generally stirring up trouble.” He takes a sip of the whiskey, grimaces and decides he doesn’t like it. “What are you doing here, Aziraphale?”

“Fixing your trouble.”

Crowley nods. “Head office send you out west for a reason?”

“I’m supposed to be blessing a priest in California.” Aziraphale takes a tired gulp of his water. It’ll be another month of riding. Why is America so big?

“I’m heading out that way for a tempting.” Crowley fishes a coin out of his pocket. “Flip you for California?”

“No,” Aziraphale says too forcefully. “No more Arrangement.”

“This isn’t about the holy water thing is it?” Crowley groans.

“Crowley, this is about how I’m an angel and you are a demon,” Aziraphale says in a shrill whisper. “We never should have been working together in the first place.” Aziraphale stands and Crowley stands with him, barstools scraping against the floor.

“Still holier than thou, huh? Let’s settle this like men then.” Crowley pulls a revolver from his side. It seems like the kind of thing an American should have.

“A duel then.” Aziraphale pulls out his own revolver. He figured he’d need it if he ever spoke to an American. He’s frankly surprised that it hasn’t come up in conversation yet.

“Take it outside,” the bartender says with the calm and common sense one can only achieve in a situation that is extremely outside a normal day. The other people in the saloon have paled. This is the kind of stuff that happens right before a town becomes a ghost town.

Outside, Crowley and Aziraphale stand in the middle of town, not quite sure what to do. They hold their guns like children hold their fingers when playing war. 

“I feel rather silly,” Aziraphale confesses.

“When in Rome,” Crowley says as if that justifies having a gunfight. Aziraphale nods as if that completely makes sense.

“What do we do?” Aziraphale inspects his gun as if it might explode like a bomb. “You’ve been in the states the longest.”

“I suppose I have.” Crowley sucks in air, realizing that he has yet to get into a gunfight with an American. Honestly, he thought it would happen as soon as he got here, as a citizenship test. He tries to remember what he’s read about America. “It’s like gambling, you have to set something for the winner.”

“That makes sense,” Aziraphale says. If two humans were dueling, the winner wouldn’t get anything because the loser would be dead. The demon and angel don’t realize this, of course.

“If I win, you give me the holy water.” 

Aziraphale is taken aback. “Crowley, I’ve told you before, I won’t do it.”

“Then you better win.” Crowley spins the gun around his finger. He fumbles trying to get it back in his grasp and almost drops it.

“Well, if I win, you never bring it up again.” Aziraphale doesn’t spin his gun, very sure that he’ll drop it or fire it.

They both stand in silence for a moment.

“Now what?” Aziraphale asks.

“Ummm.” Crowley thinks very hard about what he knows about America. “You stand back to back, walk ten paces, turn around and shoot,” Crowley says with all the confidence of a student taking an oral test that he did not study for.

“Alright then.” Aziraphale did less studying of America than Crowley.

The two pause. This whole thing feels ridiculous. A reasonable crowd has gathered, waiting in front of the buildings. Neither angel nor demon wants to find out what happens when you disappoint Americans.

Aziraphale and Crowley stand back to back, an inch away from touching. They clutch their guns to their chest, ready to fire.

One pace.

_ Why can’t he take no for an answer? _ Aziraphale says to himself.

Two paces.

_ He thinks he’s better than me just because he’s an angel _ , Crowley thinks.

Three paces.

_ Doesn’t he know what kind of trouble I could get into upstairs? _

Four paces.

_ I just need it for insurance, in case I get in trouble downstairs. _

Five paces.

_ It could destroy him. _

Six paces

_ I’d be careful with it. _

Seven paces.

_ I don’t know what I’d do with myself without him. _

Eight paces.

_ It’s been terrible not speaking with him. _

Nine paces.

Aziraphale looks at the gun in his hand.  _ I can’t shoot my best friend. _

Ten paces.

Crowley looks at the gun in his hand.  _ He could get in real trouble upstairs for damaging his body, I can’t do that to my best friend. _

They turn around and two gunshots ring through the air.

Aziraphale and Crowley stand with their guns raised in the air. Both are unharmed. The gathered crowd looks disappointed but also relieved. There’s a reason guns aren’t allowed within most western settlements.

Aziraphale and Crowley walk back to each other. “You didn’t shoot me,” Aziraphale says.

“Well, there’d be paperwork on my end, discorporating an angel.” Crowley shrugs and puts his gun away. “You didn’t shoot me.”

“For the same reason,” Aziraphale says, “paperwork.”

“So, which one of us is going to California?” Crowley pulls a coin out.

“I’m afraid both us.” Aziraphale puts his gun away. “Upstairs personally told me to come here so I’d imagine they’d be keeping a close eye on me.”

Crowley puts the coin away. “Yes, of course.”

“But, I wouldn’t mind a riding companion.” Aziraphale smiles. “The horse isn’t a great conversationalist.”

“Alright then.”

Aziraphale and Crowley walk back to the saloon where the horses are tied up. Except, there are no horses, just a broken pole.

“Oh dear.” Aziraphale worries his bottom lip and starts fidgeting with his hands.

“They must have gotten spooked by the gunshots and bolted.” Crowley examines the pole, it’s the kind of damage only two horses with the power of heaven and hell behind them could inflict. Crowley looks back to Aziraphale and notices his panic. “It’s not a problem, we can just miracle up some new ones.”

“But it is a problem.” Aziraphale’s hand waving increases along with him starting to pace. “That’s a heaven issued horse, and if they found out I lost such a holy creature, I’m done for.”

“Angel.” Crowley places a hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder. Aziraphale stops pacing but continues fidgeting with his hands. Crowley doesn’t stop him, it’s the kind of thing he needs to do. “We’ll find the horse.”

“How?” If there are two things Aziraphale has learned it’s that America is big and horses are fast.

Crowley points to a set of hoof prints in the dust. “That seems like a good place to start.”

The two follow the hoof prints. The two horses seem to stay together and not get mixed up with other horses, so the trail isn’t too hard to follow. The desert heat is almost unbearable. If Aziraphale and Crowley were human they’d be extremely dehydrated and have gotten heatstroke by now.

“What’s your horse look like, Crowley?” Aziraphale realizes that he should be on the lookout for a horse and not just looking at the trail.

“Oh, she’s black with red hair and hellfire in her eyes.” Despite describing a badass horse, Crowley sounds like he’s talking about spoiled meat. If there’s one thing they can both agree on, horses have major design flaws.

“Sounds about right for hell,” Aziraphale says. Crowley could have described any horse and he would have said it was right for hell.

“What’s yours look like?”

“Perfectly white and very fussy.”

“Sounds about right for heaven.”

“It’s good that they’re both mares,” Aziraphale laughs, “Could you imagine a horse that’s the spawn of heaven and hell?” They both shudder.

They follow the tracks through rivers, dusty hills, around shrubbery, and whatever else the American west throws at them. Eventually, the sun sets below the horizon and the moon hangs in the sky.

“We should probably stop for the night.” Crowley looks around, it’s been a long day of walking.

“Why?” Aziraphale looks around. It really is too dark to see but that can be solved with a miracle.

“Angel, aren’t you tired?” Crowley sits down. “We’ve been walking for so long.”

“Oh alright.” Aziraphale joins the demon on the ground. He doesn’t get physically tired and he’s never understood the appeal of sleep but, today has been emotionally draining.

With a snap of his fingers, Crowley starts a campfire. The warm glow is soothing and illuminates their faces. Crowley removes his hat and pulls down his bandanna, revealing his face and eyes.

“Can we talk?” Crowley doesn’t meet the angel’s eyes, he just stares into the campfire.

“About what, my dear boy?”

“Back in England, when I asked for the holy water.” Crowley pauses, thinking his words over carefully. 

Aziraphale tenses, the wounds from their fight still fresh. It was easier to settle things the American way, shoot at each other until there’s no one to fight with. Aziraphale had hoped they’d settle things the English way, avoid each other and bury the emotions. Talking things through is much harder.

“I don’t really have other people to fraternize with.” Crowley finishes.

Aziraphale laughs and feels good, like releasing a heavy suitcase. “In all honesty, I’ve missed having someone to talk to.”

Crowley smiles, meeting Aziraphale’s eyes. “I shouldn’t have asked you for the holy water. I know you could get in real trouble upstairs.” Crowley’s face is fallen. He looks guilty, a demon should never look guilty.

“I suppose it's better that you asked me instead of putting yourself in danger.” Aziraphale scoots closer to Crowley. He wants to comfort him, but he’s not sure how.

“So, you’ll give me some?” Crowley leans closer to Aziraphale. The angel can see real hope in his face and it breaks his heart.

“I can’t have your blood on my hands.” Aziraphale looks at his hands as if to make a point.

“There won’t be any blood.” Crowley takes Aziraphale’s hands, cupping them with his own. “It’s just for insurance. I need to know that it’s safe for us.” Crowley pauses then realizes what he’s said. “Safe for us to have the Arrangement, of course.”

“Crowley, we’ve been safe for thousands of years. You don’t need to have something so dangerous to feel safe.” Aziraphale pulls his hands away and moves to the other side of the fire. “We have a long day ahead of us, better get some rest.”

“Of course.” Crowley lays down. Above him stretches an endless sky of stars, untainted by city lights like back in London. Crowley puts his hat over his face and tries to sleep.

The next morning, Crowley is awakened by gentle shaking. He swats at whatever it is.

“Crowley, you have to get up,” Aziraphale says crossly.

“Five more minutes.” Crowley holds the hat in place over his face, blocking out the pesky sun.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale snatches the hat away.

Crowley hisses as the sun hits his face. “Rather impatient for an angel.” He stands up and dusts himself off.

“I’m afraid you used all my patience.” Aziraphale hands him his hat back. “I’m just not slothful.”

Crowley puts the hat back on before rolling his eyes. “Well, let's get going, then.”

They spend the rest of the day following the tracks until they reach a small lake. Greenery and trees grow around the little oasis. It’s beautiful. The only problem; the hoof prints have mixed with more hoof prints. The prints circle the pond, trod over some many times that it’s impossible to tell they’re horse prints, much less which ones are from a heavenly and hellish horse.

“Oh, we’ll never find them now,” Aziraphale cries, “I’m going to get a real talking-to from Gabriel and I don’t even want to think about what will happen next.”

“I’m sure we’ll think of something, angel.” Crowley leans to inspect the tracks. He can’t think of something right now but he has to, for Aziraphale’s sake.

“It’s hopeless, Crowley.” Aziraphale is pacing around, fidgeting with his hands again. “I’m going to have to go all the way to California and then come back to London only to get in trouble.”

“Angel.” Crowley grabs Aziraphale’s shoulder and turns him towards the lake. Two horse stands by the edge, drinking the water. A white and black mare. They raise their heads and nozzle them together.

“Oh, it’s a really good thing they’re both mares,” Crowley says to himself.

“I’ve never been so happy to see a horse in my life.” The tension rushes out of Aziraphale’s body and a smile of relief stretches across his face.

The two horses look up and see the angel and demon. The hell horse snorts angrily then disappears in a cloud of black smoke.

“Seems about right,” Crowley says with a shrug. Hell is far less protective of their animals. If one gets loose and causes a little mayhem, all the better.

The heavenly horse whinnies and throats over. Aziraphale holds his arms open with a smile until the horse rubs her head against him and he remembers that he hates horses.

“Looks like I’ll have to miracle myself a new horse.” Crowley doesn’t look pleased with the idea.

“Or perhaps—” Aziraphale pulls a coin out of his pocket “—I’ll flip you for California.”

“Angel,” Crowley says with a proud smile, “are you suggesting the Arrangement?”

“It seems a shame for both of us to go through the trouble.” Aziraphale smiles slyly. Usually, Crowley is the one to suggest it, but there is something so satisfying about breaking the rules after spending two days trying to find a horse.

“Tails.” Crowley watches the coin in the air.

Aziraphale catches it. “Heads, so you’ll be going to California.” Aziraphale looks at the horse and then at Crowley.

“I’ll make sure she gets back to you.” Crowley takes the reins from Aziraphale and pulls the horse away. “I wouldn’t want you getting in trouble with head office.”

Crowley mounts the horse. His dark attire contrasts with the perfect white of the horse. The sun is beginning to set and Aziraphale is reminded of the illustrations of cowboys, the heroes of the American West.

“Do be careful, Crowley.” Aziraphale lays his hand on the horse’s neck. He can see clearly under Crowley’s hat, his golden eyes like stars on a dark night. “America is dangerous and wild.”

“I’ll be back in London before you know it.” Crowley smiles at Aziraphale, happy to have his angel back.

“Perhaps we could have lunch when you return?”

“Anything for you, angel.”

Crowley pulls on the reins and rides of, coat flapping in the wind. Aziraphale waves as Crowley rides off into the sunset.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed, please leave a comment or kudos, they make me so happy. If you have a historical time period that you really enjoy, tell me in the comments and I might write a fic about it. If you want to know more about the American Wild West and what it was like vs. the cultural understanding, check out this video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JprKv74fzrY
> 
> Again, thank you so much to @LightningInABottle for beta reading for me, you should check out her fics, they're amazing! You can follow her on Tumblr @coffepoweredlesbian and you can follow my Tumblr @stackthedeck


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